


comfortable

by sundrymunity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, an au where they don't go to volleyball college together, gross confessions, it's photographer stuff, post-grad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2680892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundrymunity/pseuds/sundrymunity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>oikawa's a travelling writer and iwaizumi's his faithful photographer. they've both been at this together for a while, their respective professions and their feelings, but the thought of being comfortable for a reason outside their shared history never even occurred to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> aka a kind of sequel to [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2351063/chapters/5187197). someone mentioned they wished it was a chapter one instead of a one shot, so here it is.

_Another month, another sensational story_. Iwaizumi scrolls down the comments, snorting at a few of them, and pauses when the cup of coffee's placed down beside him. Oikawa leans against his chair and hums as he reads along.

"They really want us to go everywhere, don't they? Well, I can't disappoint them. It wouldn't be much of a travel blog if I didn't. How about we go back to Italy? That was nice." He slips his arms around Iwaizumi's neck, resting against him, and kisses the skin there; it lingers like the burn of the coffee on his tongue and is just as scorching. "Or Switzerland. Australia's just too dangerous, and I liked the Swiss chocolate."

"You like _anything_ anyone gives you."

A grin presses against his neck and Oikawa laughs, tickling the skin. "It's called being polite. I won't refuse something if they've put their all into it."

Iwaizumi gets to the end and stretches, tangling his fingers in the writer's hair and tugging it lightly. "That's not always a good thing, you know."

"Maybe not. But I'd hate to hurt their feelings."

Oikawa moves away and leaves an oddly cool spot where he'd been resting. College came and went. Neither really majored in anything big - Oikawa found a passion in sports nutrition for a while before moving to words, able to express himself without being stopped; Iwaizumi settled for photography at his friend's insistence and he can't exactly say he regrets it. His partner might look good usually, but Iwaizumi'd never admit that or the fact that he looks even _better_ when he doesn't think anyone's looking. A folder dedicated entirely to the unseen side of the other weighs heavily in the palm of his hand, and he slips the USB drive into his pocket as Oikawa speaks up.

"Ah-- I've got an interview today, Iwa-chan. Do you mind joining me? I can't _stand_ talking technicalities."

"They're not gonna ask me about my camera, Oikawa." He just didn't want to be up there alone. However much he loved being swarmed with people, there were always moments when Oikawa'd reach for his hand and grip it tight, hidden behind their backs. Like he didn't want to get lost. "But you'll over-exaggerate everything if I don't come with you, anyway."

Oikawa protests - _why would he do that, Iwa-chan, he's only telling the people what they need to know_ \- and comes back over, brushing a peck over his cheek and grinning at the swat. It's not like they're together, they're just comfortable... or so Iwaizumi tries to tell himself, despite the texts from old friends asking once a week otherwise.

"We should probably decide on our next destination before we go though, shouldn't we... I still like Switzerland."

"How about something closer to home?"

"Closer to home?" The writer draws closer to him and Iwaizumi lets the arms wrap around him, leaning against the head that comes to rest on his shoulder. _Comfortable_ , he repeats in his mind. "I guess that'd be nice. It's been a while since we did anything here..."

Iwaizumi's quiet, staring at the screen, and glances at Oikawa. He doesn't seem tired or anything like that. His work _was_ his play, there wasn't any stress from it as far as they were concerned, and he let the photographer take care of finances. But Iwaizumi breathes in slowly, closing his eyes to steel himself against the slight embarrassment sure to come.

"I thought we could just spend the next month or something here." Licks his lips and turns his head a fraction to see the other. "Just the two of us."

Oikawa's face warms against his and it makes his own worse, but he _refuses_ to speak. The writer seems to be holding his breath, and it comes out with a soft _I'd like that_ that makes his heart throw itself against his chest.

Okay then. So. They're spending the rest of the month at home. Fine. Great. Spectacular. Oikawa kisses his cheek, moving up and he feels breath against his ear as the other starts to say something--

"Interview," Iwaizumi mutters and Oikawa jumps up, moving away to get ready.

 _Comfortable, not together. Comfortable_. The thought is a chant in his head, even when he goes to get changed into something more professional himself and catches Oikawa's eyes checking him over, and he uses a little more energy necessary when he's tugging on slacks. There's a moment's disappointment that leaves a mark in his memory as Oikawa messes with his tie until Iwaizumi swats his hand and fixes it himself, doing his friend's while he's at it. _Comfortable_.

\--

"It's so big!" Oikawa's gawking, a childlike wonder accenting his already youthful features, and he beams at Iwaizumi. "No matter how many cities I go to, I always feel that way. Ah, being a country bumpkin sure has its downsides..."

Iwaizumi kicks the back of his legs, lifting his camera and peering at the high, grey scale buildings. There's browns and whites, glass reflecting the mid-morning sun, and as he turns it on Oikawa he takes a picture purely out of habit while the other's not paying attention. The camera drops back onto his chest softly as the writer turns back to him, face bright.

"Iwa-chan, let's try all the street food, okay? We have the whole month to ourselves! Let's gorge!"

"We'll have their signature dishes and that's it, like usual. Places like this are just too big to try everything."

As if ignoring him, which he is, Oikawa takes his arm and sighs. "They say that if you sit a day in Central Park, you'll never see the same person pass twice. Let's see if that's true, Iwa-chan."

Breakfast is in a family-owned bagel shop, the owners a pair of sweet high school lovers. Oikawa handles all the talking - semi-fluent and fast in a number of languages through his travels by necessity, though his Russian isn't top and they end up conversing half in one tongue and half in broken English - and Iwaizumi enjoys his breakfast while his partner gets a small interview with the wife. Takes a few pictures outside of the cases and some inside the kitchen, Oikawa's natural brightness leading the way. He settles down in a chair to wait for the writer to finish, head resting against his palm as he watches the morning crowd pass outside, and he realizes he'll probably be holding Oikawa's hand the entire time they're here.

There's a secret reason why he likes bustling areas, not just big cities but any place with a crowd. Maybe he's just a bit selfish. Just a bit.

But that's fine, because Oikawa's three times as bad and that bit makes him feel better. Iwaizumi feels a tap on his shoulder and turns, mouth-half open with a smart remark that's paused the moment he feels Oikawa's finger pressing into his cheek.

" _Are you twelve?!_ "

"Iwa-chan, _please_! Not in front of the nice couple! You're coming on too strong!" Oikawa barely defends himself from the onslaught of kicks, laughing through his obvious pain. The photographer wishes he could take a picture right then because it's hilarious, but he settles for imprinting it in his memory and thinks that it's fine like that too. He relents and Oikawa's laughter dies down pleasantly into a sigh. "Alright, alright, let's take a walk down the infamous Broadway, huh? I think I'll be picked right off the street~."

Iwaizumi imagines Oikawa then, the lights shining on him and fitting into whatever role asked of him. The crowds in silent awe as he sweeps across the stage and commands their attention with an ease and grace all his own. His voice lifts, it carries, it moves the hearts of those who don't know the actor's childish personality because he's just so different on stage than off it, so much less of a primadonna and more of an entertainer, and Iwaizumi wonders why he _didn't_ go into acting. He asks and, clearly surprised by the lack of a witty retort, Oikawa hooks their hands together and pulls him out of the shop.

"I guess it just never occurred to me, Iwa-chan." Liar. Oikawa'd been the lead in so many of the childhood plays, and he had such a good face that even into high school he was asked to play parts. How couldn't he think about it? "And I like this quiet life better, between you and I. Being an actor seems too tiring."

 _But you're so natural at it,_ Iwaizumi bites back. That's not fair to say. It's true, but within the recent years of being together, Oikawa seemed to be trying to be less what people wanted to see and more of what he is - though the two actually coincided more than he let on. "I would've thought that the dazzling stage would be all you'd want in life."

Oikawa laughs distantly and squeezes his hand, the other held up to his eyes as he cranes his neck to see the tops of the skyscrapers. "The only audience I'd ever want is you. Iwa-chan gives me such honest reviews~! Even if they're mean spirited and wrong!"

"They're truthful and completely unbiased." And he's pretty thankful Oikawa's so forward moving, because the tips of his ears are burning and the rest of him probably isn't any better.

"You've been with me for so long, there's no way that's true." Simple fact. The writer stops, staring at something, and turns around with a flourished grin. "Iwa-chan, do you see what I see? There's a bunch of people over there! Let's go check it out."

It's a little street side concert and Iwaizumi's reminded that there's always something happening in big places like this. From the looks of it, they're early enough to be able to see the musicians get ready for their performances, and Oikawa leans from one foot to the other.

"I wonder what they'll play. Nothing that we'd know, obviously, but... And I really want to get an interview with them! Iwa-chan, take some pictures, okay?"

"It's my job to, so of course I am, you idiot."

It's just not part of the description to also take pictures of Oikawa's enamored face as he watches the performance, the clicks suffocated by the jazzy sounds. Iwaizumi's almost caught when the writer turns and asks him to dance, a flourish of his hand and a wide, cheeky grin in place. The camera hits his chest softly as he sighs and takes the wiggling fingers, biting back a grin at the light that dances with them behind Oikawa's eyes.

\--

Their first night in a hotel together and the only room that's available, Oikawa mentions as they're standing in the elevator with their bags and no one that knows Japanese around, has a single bed for two--

"You couldn't have gotten _anyplace_ else," Iwaizumi's temper - and headache - begins to flare, and the upstart writer presses into the corner of the elevator as he leans over, "you couldn't have gotten anyplace else with _two_ beds."

"What's the problem, Iwa-chan? We used to sleep together all the time--"

"When we were _kids_ , Oikawa."

"-- So I don't see an issue with it, really, we'll just keep to sides."

Iwaizumi stares at him, literally backed into a corner, and turns back the front. Some of the other occupants are staring at them with vague interest, others with annoyance, and he doesn't like the attention. So he drifts to the back with Oikawa and sighs, leaning against the metal as he keeps an eye on their luggage.

"If you can manage that, fine. I don't care. It's a place to stay," he mutters to convince himself that it's _just_ that, "so whatever."

Oikawa sighs, bumping against his shoulder as the elevator dings (not their floor yet), and watches some of the inhabitants leave. "I can handle that at least. It won't be so bad, Iwa-chan. It'll be just like a sleepover."

 _Just like a sleepover_ , Iwaizumi grumbles in his mind later on during the night, the hotel room itself nothing special and, as promised, with a single bed. _Sure. Which is why you're spooning me, right. Staying to your own goddamn side my fucking ass. What a joke._

"I can hear your thoughts, Iwa-chan," Oikawa mumbles from behind him. He glances over his shoulder at the pitiful look the other's giving him, furrowing his brows. "If you're so tense before bed, you'll wake up with aches and pains. And you'll have a bad sleep if you're angry."

"Shut up and sleep."

He looks straight ahead and tries to ignore the way Oikawa tightens his one-arm grip on him, but it's harder when there's the press of lips against his neck and he fucking freezes.

"... I can't sleep," his sleeping partner finally comes out with it, and Iwaizumi groans. Of course not. Why would he expect this to be easy. He turns around and Oikawa immediately shifts forward, tucking his head under Iwaizumi's chin with a sigh. "Sorry, you know how it is."

"Unfortunately. I don't know why the hell you decided to be a traveling writer... _thing_ when you can't even sleep alone in a new place."

"That's why I have you, Iwa-chan."

"So you _called_ for a unit with one bed."

"Mmhmm."

Iwaizumi thumps Oikawa hard on the back, resting his arm naturally against him, and closes his eyes. "You're an asshole. Just say that next time. And give me a warning in advance so I can bring a fucking pillow for you."

Oikawa's laughter is soft and slightly pained, but it still makes his heart stop. Dammit. Iwaizumi strokes through the soft hair beneath his head, rubbing small circles into the scalp, and his cheeks heat up at the pleased sigh.

"Pillows don't do it for me. I like this better. But just for future reference?" Oikawa nuzzles into him, half a smile pressed into his collarbones. "This is how all our sleeping arrangements will be. Get used to me, Iwa-chan ♥."

"You're so fucking gross." But Iwaizumi holds him closer still, forcing away anything but innocence in his mind, and settles for dealing with it.

\--

"What's with this line here?" Oikawa leans against Iwaizumi, warm and fresh out the shower, and peers at the sentence being pointed at. The scent of the hotel distributed shampoo and soap isn't the most attractive, but it's clean and it gets the job done. He shifts his weight on the bed as the writer finally gets it.

"Oh, it was just something you said. You don't remember? We were walking past some street performers."

He didn't remember at all. Oikawa leans his head on Iwaizumi's, yawning. "Let's go to bed, Iwa-chan~. You can criticize me in the morning, mm? How about it?"

"I'm not tired," Iwaizumi protests, but Oikawa grins and gets him in a chokehold, tugging him down with a laugh. The photographer barely manages to save the laptop, carefully closing it and setting it on the end table, and turns to stare down at his friend.

He doesn't care if the flush is from the shower or just the way they're positioned, his fingers itch to take a picture of the sly smile on Oikawa's face, longs for a video camera to capture every second of his calloused hand coming up to rest against the back of his neck, to have the very moment his eyes light up with an idea. Iwaizumi stands his ground, though he knows he's getting red in the face because Oikawa's thumb caresses his burning neck and the writer laughs softly. Iwaizumi sets a hand by Oikawa's head, leaning down and convincing himself that it's just the relaxed arm bringing him down instead, and presses his lips against the other's forehead on a gut feeling.

And moves back, scowling. "You're sick."

"Oh, whoops, caught." Oikawa's flush is from a fever. His hand drops, but takes Iwaizumi by the front of his shirt and hangs there. "I couldn't stay long in the shower because I started to get dizzy, so will you help me wash in the morning?"

"How long have you been sick?"

"... Remember when I was complaining about my throat and you said it was just the cold air?"

It could've just been the cold air. Oikawa's never been good with the chill, bundling up more than a cocooned caterpillar, complaining every second about it. That was a few days ago. But other than that... He'd seemed fine. He's always been a convincing actor when he needed to be ( _the stage really was where Oikawa belonged, with thousands of eyes staring at his bright existence_ ) but Iwaizumi'd never failed to look right through that. It'd been a rough couple of days, yeah, but...

"I didn't want to worry you since there was so much else going on, Iwa-chan." _Now_ he can hear the sickness, voice softer to keep it from sounding terribly hoarse. The gross sound Oikawa makes when he turns his head to the side and inhales sharply to clear his nose. Iwaizumi breathes in, lets it out, and thuds onto the other, burrowing his face into the space just below their pillows. He feels Oikawa wriggling his hand away and lets up a little just for that, dropping back afterward. "You're crushing me."

He berates himself for not noticing sooner.

"I don't care if there's a lot going on, you shitstain, don't _force_ yourself to feel fine." Something tells him he'd be scolding Oikawa about this no matter the profession.

"Sorry," he breathes. "Iwa-chan, can I ask something selfish of you?"

"Why start asking now?"

The writer laughs and coughs a little at the end, clearing his throat as he wraps his arms around Iwaizumi. "I'm taking that as a _'go for it'_ , Iwa-chan. When I'm not sick anymore, can we go out for dinner?"

Iwaizumi frowns, tilting his head against Oikawa's. How was that selfish? They usually did that anyway. He reaches up and pushes his fingers through the chestnut locks. Oikawa was probably just tired. Rest, water, warm foods... Maybe some medicine if it got worse. A cool cloth. _Plenty_ of rest. "Yeah. _When_ you're better. That doesn't mean the morning you stop feeling sick, it means a few days _after_ that."

Oikawa's quiet, nuzzling into Iwaizumi's collarbones with a smile. "I know. Thanks."

\--

"Iwa-chan," airy and not altogether there, "can you look at me through your camera and tell me what you see?"

It's one of his weirder requests. Iwaizumi stares at him first without the use of lens, takes note of the way he bites his bottom lip (a nervous habit; what did he have to be nervous of?), the fingers drumming across the upper part of his crossed arms (impatient, a way to keep time), and the eyes don't meet his (hiding something). He sighs, rolling his eyes, and takes his camera. Oikawa's gaze flicks towards him and then away, guarded.

"I don't see why. Are you being stupid again, or does this have some kind of purpose I'm not getting?"

The writer's lips quirk up at that, involuntary relief judging by the way his grip relaxes and the drumming stops. "It's harsh for you to assume the first, well, _first_."

"That's usually all it is with you, Asskawa," but he lifts the camera and looks at Oikawa as he always does, zooming in slightly. What was he supposed to be seeing? The dumbass is the same on and off film. _Private snapshots included_ , he thinks, the USB weighing heavy in his pocket.

There's nothing different at first. But as the moments pass, Iwaizumi focuses more and more through the camera and blocks out the rest of the world. Oikawa stares back, his practiced impassiveness in place, and exhales visibly. He presses his lips tight (nervous habit; can also show annoyance or displeasure), stretching his legs out in front of him and reaching against the wall as he raises his arms similarily. His shirt rides up the barest amounts and, with his eyes squeezed tight in a silent yawn, the click of the camera goes off.

Iwaizumi freezes. Oikawa peeks open an eye, a smirk curling against the whites of his teeth, but closes it soon after as he relaxes against the wall and fiddles with the hem of his shirt. He leans his head to one side, long neck craned and unmarked.

"You really do take pictures of me without thinking, don't you. I had some suspicions but, well, I couldn't call you out on it unless I had definite proof. And this," Oikawa lifts a finger to point at Iwaizumi's shaking hand, "is proof enough, don't you think?"

"So what?" His throat's dry, the words coming out in a slight croak. Iwaizumi swallows, ears burning, regret swelling back up. But he doesn't move the camera away, keeps his finger poised to take another shot. "It's just habit from class. We were always supposed to take candid shots to improve our..."

The words trail off like Oikawa's hands up his front, peeling the shirt off, looking at Iwaizumi through his lashes. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, Iwa-chan, you did learn it in class," he coaxes gently. Another click of the camera. "I don't mind. I kind of like it."

"You're a pervert."

Oikawa laughs, knowing grin momentarily covered by the shirt as he tugs it over his head and tosses it aside. "You're one to talk. But alright, Iwa-chan, _I'm_ the perv. Do me a favor and don't release these pictures? It'll ruin me."

He wasn't planning on it anyway.

"So," the writer starts up again, face flushed as he circles his nipple and inhales sharply when he squeezes it. Iwaizumi can feel his pants getting tight and he wills himself to be professional - though he knows why he could never get into taking pictures of models now. "What do you see, Iwa-chan?"

Oikawa arches forward and the photographer grits his teeth when he registers the pressure of his finger taking another shot, betraying himself. Instead of a real answer (beautiful, aggravating, sensual, annoying), he replies with, "A slut."

"You're rude," he snaps back, but presses the side of his face into the wall, watching Iwaizumi from the corner of his eye with a smirk. "Don't you have any--" Another gasp as he pinches, another snapshot, "Anything nice to say, mm?"

Nothing Iwaizumi wants to admit outloud. So he stays quiet, watching instead, getting up to get a better angle. He's between Oikawa's outstretched legs now, arm laying innocently on the other's knee. Oikawa looks down at him, an appreciative glint in his eye as he skirts his hands down to the waistband of his pants. This is stupid and dangerous and so very Oikawa, from the way he slips his pants and underwear down at the same time to the shit-eating grin he's got at his own half-hard cock, hand wrapping around it. Iwaizumi sets back a little for a better shot, watching through the lens.

It's not long until his model is starting to breathe harder, eyes closed and finally not performing, the view in front of him as real as the frustrations in their earlier years (which seemed kind of silly to him now - not invalid, because they had grown, changed, become who they were because of those frustrations - but the thought of _only_ volleyball taking up their lives was amusing,) and Iwaizumi's shame subsides with each passing second, sigh, and shiver. Oikawa's eyes open and he can read the request perfectly in the darkened gaze, a whine pulling itself deep from within the other's throat when Iwaizumi's hand enters the shot and grazes his pale hips, the skin hot against his fingertips. The eyes flutter close, but not before the shutter-click of his camera captures the want shining bright like a lantern in the mists.

Maybe it's not fair to either of them. Oikawa, who obviously wants to be touched more but won't allow Iwaizumi to put the camera down and Iwaizumi, who wants to do a lot more than this but won't allow himself to get caught in Oikawa's pacing. This might even be a one time thing. A moment of weakness. Or it could be the start of something else, a stepping stone across the rapids that've always been their relationship. Iwaizumi's not sure if he wants to cross, hesitates on one side of the river while his friend seems halfway there already, the bright grin in his mind genuine and loving.

 _Come on_ , Oikawa seems to say as he holds out his hand, _it's not so scary. Not if we're together_.

And Iwaizumi feels like a kid dragged into another game when he decides enough's enough and pushes Oikawa to the side, camera still on but off its model. It hangs in between them, swaying back and forth, and Oikawa watches it for a moment before (shyly?) fixing his gaze on Iwaizumi.

"I was wondering when you'd get tired of watching. Iwa-chan's always been a man of action when it got too much," he murmurs and grazes Iwaizumi's face, fond grin tugging at his lip. Iwaizumi flicks his head and leans down, cutting off the complaint soundly.

"You're unbearable," he says through kisses so hot they might as well be in Naples rather than the more northwestern Toronto. Oikawa's French had come in handy in Canada, and was infinitely an enjoyable tongue when pressed with his own. "How does anyone stand you?"

Oikawa breathes laughter and the arms on the back of his neck feel heavy when they land. "You tell me."

He doesn't. Because they both know that it's always been Iwaizumi's doing, that he's made a home wherever they went, covering the dark blots and letting Oikawa's light shine through his fingers, rays of gold leaving the atmosphere around the room warm (if annoying, because the sun can be that way too). Iwaizumi's softer with his lips than he is his hands, enjoying the feeling of Oikawa being so wrapped up in him rather than the other way around, wondering if he's always been this compliant and waiting, the flush not from a fever or embarrassment but real arousal this time. It's still as pretty as can be, and he smirks at the whine when he pulls away to take a picture.

"I take it back, Iwa-chan, forget the camera."

"Nope." The pout's pretty adorable too, even if it works less than usual because of the redness stretched from his hair to his collarbones. The camera sways when he experimentally rocks against Oikawa and the other moans loud enough for the both of them, arching back into it.

" _Oh_ my god, Iwa-chan, do me a serious favor and do that again."

He complies, a swirl of heat and lust coursing through him, and Oikawa grasps at him, fingers digging in hard enough there's sure to be marks but who the hell cares, they've never come out unscathed from anything they've done together and this-- this won't be any different, even if it really just a moment's want and nothing else. Especially if it's that. The thought doesn't linger long in Iwaizumi's mind because he's on the receiving end of a buck that has him spilling curses out long after he's pulling out his own cock and ignoring the laugh that Oikawa gives at his already hard state, face burning and a satisfied feeling sweeping away his embarrassment when the other inhales sharply at the sudden friction of their erections pressed against each other.

It feels unfairly good. That's all he can think, looking between them and then up at Oikawa who's looking at _him_ like he's some sort of fantastic prize. Iwaizumi keeps a careful eye on the open expression when he rocks his hips, the brush of his underwear making the other shudder and _mewl_ , god, what the hell, it's not like he's unaffected either but what guy _mewls_?

"You're disgusting," he mutters, but everything's enflamed by the sound and he grinds their hips together, biting back sounds Oikawa lets loose freely, every whine moan whimper keen gasp groan mutter of his name charging his skin and making him move faster and faster, a hand between them to keep it steady and Oikawa looks like he's about to die--

So, infuriating enough to himself and to his partner, Iwaizumi takes a quick shot with the camera and leans down to kiss him harshly, the other greedily takng each one in stride and with an intensity that makes him sure that this has probably been a long time coming, from stolen looks to secret pictures, from the insistence on one bed to the time where Oikawa was sick and delusional, from one end of the globe to the other _this_ is what they've come to, though it's no final destination for either. Oikawa squirms under him and Iwaizumi hears the mutters between gasps and whines.

"Can you-- Can we-- Can I suck your cock, Iwa-chan?"

His familiar, childhood name paired with a filthy request like that gets him going in a way Iwaizumi's not sure he's entirely comfortable with but that's for another time, so he moves away and Oikawa eagerly leans down, pleased with the curses he gets for sliding right onto the pulsing cock and looking up with as much of a shit-eating grin as he can when he's got something sizeable in his hot mouth. Iwaizumi's hands threaten to tear the poor sheets right in half with their grip, and they're shaky when he barely keeps it together looking down at Oikawa, whose slicking his dick up like it's some delicious sweet to be savored, watching it go in and how like that's driving him crazy and he can't stop the bucks that come in time. Oikawa makes a disgruntled noise at it but doesn't stop, just matches the pace, and Iwaizumi takes pictures with one hand and keeps himself from falling with the other, trying to scowl at his friend's amused look marred by a blush so red it'd make anyone hot and god, Oikawa hollows out his cheeks looking like that, eyes staring into the lens of his camera, and Iwaizumi chokes out a sound before he's seeing stars and Oikawa's choking for a different reason.

There's beats as Oikawa sits up, staring at Iwaizumi with a load in his mouth, and then he swallows so easily it almost makes him sick. How many guys has Oikawa done this with? If it's that easy for him, and Iwaizumi hasn't had a ton of blowjobs but he knows the other's experienced, then is he just one of many?

The brunet wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sits up, his own cock achingly unattended to as it dribbles precum onto the bed. "What's with that look, Iwa-chan?"

"-- Nothing," he breathes out, heart still pounding and chest tight. It takes a few moments to get feeling back and he clumsily gets a hold of Oikawa's hardened dick, the skin hot and a little slick from their previous rubs, and the soft noise he makes is worth feeling stupid in how exactly to give someone a _good_ handjob.

Iwaizumi's name burbles out like a stream or a prayer, a chant that makes him partially dizzy and another part embarrassed. He watches the way Oikawa shudders and grips his shoulders like it's a lifeline, nails digging in stinging like a goddamn bitch, and he can feel himself getting hard all over again. It's a poison, Iwaizumi decides. Life threatening and paralyzing, even if his hand keeps moving and he spits onto the head, mixing cum and saliva, and though Oikawa makes a disgusted noise he can tell it's affecting the other in a good way from the heated stare and the fact Oikawa grabs him by the face to kiss him, lips bitten and tongues pushing against each other, hurried and heated, a loud moan reverberating in the small space of their mouths when Oikawa convulses in his hand, hot cum spurting out lewdly onto Iwaizumi's clothes.

 _That'll be a pain to clean,_ he thinks distantly, mouth still working against Oikawa's, though it's slow and warm and his friend returns it, the grip on his face softened to strokes across his cheeks and carding through his hair.

They break for air, panting in the centimeters between them, and Oikawa talks between quick kisses that make Iwaizumi's head spin.

"You - are - such - an - amateur," but there's not much teasing behind it, it's fond and Iwaizumi leans back from the kisses a bit. Oikawa's smile is so full of something that it makes him want to look away, beautiful and brilliant, and he goes to grab some tissues to clean up his doe-eyed friend.

"Iwa-chan," Oikawa breaks the near quietness between them, voice soft and wavering, "I love you."

Iwaizumi doesn't respond readily, focusing every bit of his nerves on his task at hand, and jerks slightly when Oikawa brushes knuckles over his cheek. He glances up to meet the other's eyes, glancing away at the look of adoration so naked and open. It feels like something he shouldn't see. But he doesn't respond verbally, just presses a soft kiss to the sweat slicked tresses blocking his friend's forehead, and wonders if that dinner they'd had was a date then. It's been a week or two since then, a month since they went to New York, five since they decided to stay in Japan and now the thought of just being _comfortable_ seems laughable.

It's been a long two years, full of adventure and globetrotting, of being with and by Oikawa, and Iwaizumi lets the other sprinkle kisses across his cheeks, neck, shoulders, embarrassment sinking into every pore in the areas.

"I love you," he hears it repeated, stronger this time. "I've been meaning to tell you that, but..."

There's a hesitance that's so unlike Oikawa it makes Iwaizumi look at him, the brown eyes focused on twiddling thumbs and bruised lips bitten in a clear state of nervousness.

"You never really seemed like you'd want to hear it. I'm never going to stop saying it now though. Whether you feel the same or not, I love you, and that's--"

"You're stupid."

Oikawa's mouth drops open at that, disbelief across his face, and Iwaizumi ruffles his hair partially in affection, partially to have something to do with his hands. He feels awkward. But not in a bad way, he guesses, he just doesn't know what else to say. So he pulls Oikawa closer, foreheads pressed together, and tries to convey the words lodged in his throat through kissing, lips moving gently and tongue gliding apologetically on the roughed up mouth. Oikawa, who has always been good at reading people and always will be, grins against him.

Iwaizumi reminds himself to tell their families thanks for the graduation gift so long ago, that first exciting flight to Athens that kickstarted the wanderer in Oikawa and a burning need to see the world in himself.

"Can I see those other pictures you took of me?"

"Not a chance," he kisses back, moving away to set the camera aside for later and pinning Oikawa down when he tries to escape. Iwaizumi grins and the other frowns, a pout puckered on his lips. "Maybe when I'm dead."

"I'll look forward to your funeral then, Iwa-chan," and pushes up to kiss him again, coaxing him successfully into a cuddle as they strip him of his shirt and the rest of his pants, too hot for the blankets encasing them.

Iwaizumi waits for the breathing to even out, drool dribbling out of Oikawa's mouth, before he carefully removes himself and uploads the pictures to his USB, wiping the camera and hiding both away. He climbs back in and Oikawa immediately reattaches himself, nuzzling into his chest with a hum, unaware of the affectionate kiss pressed against the crown of his head.

Maybe some other day. But no time when Oikawa'd tease him, when he'd realize how long Iwaizumi had been watching him through the lens of his camera like it could take pictures of his soul. It was too soon for that. _But someday_ , Iwaizumi thinks lazily as sleep starts to drift him away. When Oikawa stops being a sensation and starts being just his.


End file.
